When I arrived in the crazy night-time traffic of Budapest, all the buildings looked like massive stone slabs. When I woke up the next morning and set out to explore, I met the most incredible architecture I’d seen. Every building weighs a million pounds in stone and is crested with impossibly intricate carvings. Budapest is like a stone forest, but it’s spacious and not oppressive. You never feel cloistered, or that people are looking at you. In fact, nobody seems to care what you’re doing. Budapest has an immediately noticeable laid back attitude stemming from the fact that life is less regulated. How so, you ask? For one, unlike meticulous Switzerland there aren’t lines painted all over the streets to tell you how far your pedestrian feet can venture into the road before you’re in the cars’ way. Walk where you want; move when a car comes.
I wanted to see more of the Czech Republic. The back of the Prague map at Sir Toby’s listed some popular places and the logical next destination, where everyone headed after Prague, was a quiet little town in southern Bohemia called Ceský Krumlov. Its maze of medieval alleyways twisting around an unusually large castle reportedly took you back to the fourteen century, but with a sewage system. And there were 200 bars for 15,000 people; surely here I could stumble into my time-traveling medieval tavern and be set on adventure. The downside was that with so much charm oozing around every corner its tourist population topped its actual population in the summertime, and Prague had thoroughly worn me out on that account, not to mention the clubs, pubs, and busy big cities accounts, too.
I scanned the map further and the name “Poets’ Corner Hostel” caught my eye; sounds like just the kind of place I want to be, I thought. But it was in a town called Olomouc, in the opposite direction of Ceský Krumlov.
“What’s in Olomouc?” I asked the girl working at the front desk.
“Oh, nothing,” she rolled her eyes. “It’s the kind of place to go if you want to write a book for two days.”